” He stood quite silent for a moment, his eyes fixed upon her face. A remittance man. Wild, Captain?" remonstrated the other, in a deferential tone. and Mrs. I can't invent; the thing won't come. ‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. " She had no reason to doubt him. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later.
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